Asyre ABC's
by Butterfly in a Hurricane
Summary: "They say a picture is worth a thousand words, and they may be right, but I've found that at the right time, in the right moment, a single world is worth much more than a thousand pictures"
1. A is for Airplanes

**(Woo hoo. Finally, the first chapter of Asyre ABC's, or Asyre Bel Canto sees the light of day! Since it's the first chapter, and I don't want to cause any problems too early, the two characters are my minors from Lyncile, James and Rose.**

**I don't own the song the extract is taken from, it belongs to B.O.B, Hayley Williams and Eminem depending on the version. Further, I don't own the RP this is based on. The characters are mine, but the world of Asyre belongs co-jointly to everyone on the forum.**

**_*Asyre bel canto*- _Is a page break, because hates me and won't let me use one... ^^)**

Airplanes

'_Can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky are shooting stars?_

_I could really use a wish right now...'_

James winced as Rose took his arm in a death grip for the fifth time in less than ten minutes. Nonetheless, after the pain dulled again, he grinned. Rose's enthusiasm was infectious.

She pulled her friend around another corner. So far, he'd seen the picture she'd drawn for him, a tabby cat and her mewling kittens in Rose's back garden. Rose said that they'd 'moved into' an alleyway before she brought them home and promised them they could meet James. Currently, the seven-year-old was dragging him to the park to see something "really, really special".

James saw Rose shiver and hold her coat closer as a particularly bitter breeze swept past. When they arrived, the park was nearly empty. The sun skimmed the horizon, although it was only 7pm. Rose held James' arm tightly as she crossed the park and made for 'their' corner. James swept aside a branch, opening the way in.

This was their den, their hideaway. Their haven. Every child has a place they run to when in trouble, a place they feel safe in, a place to escape... This was theirs. The small abode wasn't particularly comfortable, but it had played host to thousands of secret conversations, hundreds of games and it paid witness to the frequent hugs and tears of the pair. James frowned. What would happen the next time Rose came here in tears? Who would wrap their arms around her and lie to her, saying everything was okay? Who would be here for her?

Rose had ran to the corner off the den and refused to let James come near the area until she was ready. When she finally moved out of the way, James couldn't help but smile. It was a daisy patch.

Except, each and every flower was blue.

"So," Rose asked with a smile that could light a candle at thirty paces, "are you happy now?"

After being told to smile by Rose, James had once said, in the worst mood possible, that he'd smile when he found out daisies were blue. His parents had been fighting again that day and he decided he'd rather be outside in the cold than inside with those two. Rose had found him over an hour after he left by wandering the streets. Of course she'd been berated for it by none other than James himself but said she couldn't get lost following him because James "took the same route as always".

The floor around her was littered with water bottles and one small pot of ink. _She must have watered down the ink and fed it to the plants._

"Yeah Rose, I'm happy now."

"Are you going to go away again?" Rose asked, her eyes losing their excited sparkle.

"Maybe once more, but never again."

"I think I can handle that." Rose replied in the most grown-up way possible. All it really did was remind James what age she actually was.

_I hope so..._ James thought before asking, "What do you want to play now Rose?"

**_*Asyre Bel Canto*_**

Last Tuesday, at exactly 10:34 am, James had been admitted to hospital. After three constant days of throwing up and headaches, his parents had taken time out of their schedules in order to take him to the A&E.

One X-ray later and James was transferred to a single room. A few of the staff gave him a look of sympathy James didn't understand as he was wheeled in on a wheelchair.

He wasn't overly concerned. People got put into hospital all the time. In the mind of a child, hospital is more like a holiday from school and without your parents. It's a small bout of freedom paid for with the discomfort treatment brings. The room itself was rather comfortable, inviting even. The wide and tall windows with pale yellow curtains which filtered the sunlight gave a spacious, airy feel. The room also had a window overlooking the nurse's station. When James pulled the blind he could out it at the busy atmosphere. The place was like an anthill with people rushing everywhere.

Eventually, James saw two ants he knew. His mother and father made their way to the desk at the centre of the floor more than a little tentatively. His mother looked to be on the verge of tears, but then, that was nothing new. James' mother had always been a drama queen. She was always the one who would either be bouncing around the house or in a solid state of happiness, yet, when the smallest thing upset her she'd cry and mope for days. The woman had once went into a week-long depression after one of his fathers' sweaters had accidentally been shrunk in the washing. James couldn't help but smile as the fond memory came back. His father had had to give the woman a day off, chocolates and buy an identical sweater saying that he'd managed to fix it.

So James beamed whilst his father caught the shaking woman in a hug.

Until he saw something he hadn't saw before.

His father's eyes were wet. His cheeks were damp with tear tracks and James felt for the first time that something was drastically wrong.

A consultant walked into the room along with the weeping pair. The room no longer felt open. It felt empty.

Fifteen minutes later, James only had two questions.

The first was "_Mom, can I still go to Rosie's birthday party?"_

The second came after the consultant left the room and James was left with two parents that looked at him with fearful and tearful eyes.

"_Dad, what is can-cer anyway?"_

_***Asyre Bel Canto***  
_

James and Rose came out of their den when Rose had to go home.

The cold wind swept over the now empty playground. The sun was in the process of biding the world farewell as it sank behind them, its light turning bronze as it disappeared as well as its non-existent heat. The sky ahead of them was turning a vibrant spectrum of reds, dark blues and deepest purples. Pinpricks of light made themselves visible in the darker colours shown.

James fiddled with his now ever present cap nervously. Rose had to be home before the sun went down. That was the rule. Even if it was only seven o'clock.

Grabbing her gloved hand, James and Rose ran back to the younger's house. The last time Rose had been late she hadn't been allowed out for three days. James couldn't allow that to happen, not with knowing what he did now.

So, when Rose stopped so suddenly that she almost jerked his arm out of his socket, James was not pleased.

"Rose, what the...?" The rapturous look on Rose's face made him stop and look up too. There were more stars in the sky now, but one in particular seemed to be moving.

"It's a shooting star!" Rose exclaimed, before squeezing her eyes shut, "Think of a wish, quickly!"

_I don't need to think, _James thought. He didn't have the heart to tell her that the moving light wasn't a star. It was an airplane. Playing along, he closed his eyes and wished on a non-existent shooting star.

_Let Rose be happy. Let her have someone to look after her when I can't._

Seconds after James closed his eyes, Rose opened hers. She studied his naturally frowning face and smiled sadly. She was probably the cause of that. That and James' dumb parents and school and the bad people. It was all of their faults.

So, closing her eyes again, Rose wished with all her heart.

_Star, if you can, let James smile more. He looks after me, so he deserves it. Please?_

**(Et Finito... ^^**

**B is coming up, C is written and ready to rock and rock... I'm currently taking suggestions and prompts for D and E. If you actually want your character associated with a particular word/prompt either tell me here or on the forum ^-^.**

**As a final note... HAPPY ANNIVERSARY GUYS! 2 years, who'd have thought it? :P)**


	2. B is for Beauty

**(Chapter Two has arrived... Little drabble-like piece supporting the Mearad and Kaiden pairing. Fingers crossed I've done it justice. This is written from Mearad's POV)**

Beauty

"I don't know whether to think it's beautiful or hideous"

"They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder"

"Am I not a beholder?"

(Paraphrased from Awkward Encounters)

Beauty is tender. Beauty is fleeting and fragile, the slightest breath can cause it to be lost forever. Beauty is rare and should be treasured because of its rarity. Beauty inspires writers, poets and artists and has inspired some of the greatest works of art Asyre has ever seen. Beauty is perfection incarnate, small glimpses mortals are granted into the wonders which surround the gods in their heavenly halls. Beauty is commonly said to indescribable, breath-taking and awe-inspiring. Despite their efforts, writers and poets often say that there are no words for it.

Beauty is prefect, wonderful, glorious, delicate, exquisite, flawless and simply amazing.

It is also a word you wouldn't use to describe Kaiden Barruth.

If anything, Kaiden's grim face combined with the only half-healed scar running from his temple to his ear would be more than likely to turn people away from him than provide the irresistible true beauty is supposed to have. In this case, his own attitude would accomplish what his looks didn't. Kaiden was not a people person. He did not tolerate stupidity, ignorance or just plain slowness. If you didn't keep up with him, you where quickly left behind. What his coarse, unmerciful attitude didn't achieve, his weapon of choice did.

Kaiden was no swordsman or warrior. His bow was only used for hunting, but that was that made him all the more precautious. His weapon was something which required a lot more skill to use.

Mainly, other people.

Shifter may have had natural mental abilities, but Kaiden's had to be practiced, adapted, tested and developed, and that's what made his all the more significant and dangerous. He simply didn't seem to care for the people around him. He had a way of getting under your skin like no-one else could. By his own terms, he was a manipulator, He could take your own mind and turn it against you if he so wished. Kaiden Barruth could, with no special talent whatsoever, destroy you from the inside.

That was just another reason to fear him, to keep him as far away as possible. So Mearad had often questioned if she was insane for wanting to get closer to the man.

There was an attraction there, not that she'd admit it. Perhaps not Kaiden to Mearad, but certainly the reverse. To put it simply, he fascinated her to a length she hadn't thought possible.

Of course she'd heard about love from soppy fairytales bards commonly told. She'd heard about how the Princess always ended up with Prince Charming, but that wasn't what was there. It mightn't have even been love, but occasionally, when her mind was wandering away, she couldn't take her eyes off him.

It wasn't that he was handsome. He wasn't charming like Axum or charismatic like Theron and Phineas. Kaiden wasn't humorous like Clad, nor lovable like Ryo.

Kaiden's draw was much more subtle. You had to squint to see it, but it was there, written in every little action he did. He was interesting... The mysterious cloak he kept over his thoughts, motives and intentions just made her want to work him out all the more. She could watch him for hours, just thinking. Every time she thought she spotted something constant about Kaiden, some trait he kept hidden, the man would do or say something that would make her question everything all over again. He was Asyre's most complex and unique enigma. He was something that had her attention and could keep it held. She wasn't enraptured or spellbound, just fascinated. How could one man do show much, yet show so little of himself?

So no, Kaiden Barruth wasn't handsome, charming, lovable or charismatic. He was no Prince Charming or noble knight, and in a way, Mearad was happy about that, because charm and beauty fade, love is fleeting and disappears with the wind, charisma eventually runs out.

But one thing he was was _interesting. _And for her, that was much, much more important.

**(I'm not sure about this one. Feedback would be much appreciated... ^-^)**


	3. C is for Courage

Courage

"Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is the little voice at the end of the day that says 'I'll try again tomorrow'" Mary Anne Radmacher

**_*Asyre Bel Canto*_**

There was a very big difference between them. Ryo meant those around them and himself. It was something small, he knew, something internal, but whatever it was, it meant all the difference in the world. It was in their eyes, despite their eyes all being so different.

The shifters eyes normally burned with a fierce determination and almost unstoppable resolve. Alicia's eyes had held that in her blue-eyed gaze as she planned yet another escape attempt from the pits, but that was before the orcs had taken her away. The fay's held a bright and unwavering light of hope, something Ryo hadn't seen in a while. The scholar's self assurance and self-confidence held him in good stead. Hult normally beat that out of people within minutes. The fire mage's gaze was haunted by the past, like Ryo's own, and continuously questioned the future, but a drive still remained, a chance for the redemption of past crimes. The holy man had a drive too, much like the shifter's, but not quite. He looked as if he had a personal mission to save Asyre, first from the Darkness, even from itself. Even the warrior girl, an oddity in itself, was seeking something she wanted. She wanted adventure and, by her own words, a shot at love. Ryo thoughts always went to another place when he looked at that girl. Alicia's had had the same gleam in her eyes. But that was before everything. That was before the orcs and the battles, the nightmares, the anger and the sorrow.

That was before the never-ending agony.

That was before _pain_

But still, when Ryo looked at each of them, even just briefly, he could see the similarities, or was it just one? Was there only one single constant amongst all these people that was the biggest difference between them and himself? Perhaps that was the reason Ryo felt as if he didn't belong here despite the females insistence that he and almost anyone where welcome with them. Didn't they realise how easy it was to abuse that invitation? Or did they simply not care?

Ryo was honestly certain he had never been around so many kind hearted people in all his life. Hult wasn't like that. Ryo almost snorted at the sheer hilarity of that statement. Kindness in Hult... You may as well say that Arcell had a heart and secretly wrote poetry in that Tower of his while those twins played with dolls in the garden and she devil with a whip danced. There was no time for relationships, interactions or given simple kindness there. The people had forgotten how to be kind. If you weren't working, you were sleeping with the childish hope that the worlds of dreams would allow you to escape from the never ending torment if only for a sweet fleeting moment, It never did. The cold rocks around them didn't show the slightest shred of compassion or mercy and the people where was. The citadel was built from both stone and the lives of the slaves it claimed in its construction.

In the pits, whispers of haunting and vengeful spirits floated along the lines. Those with the energy to do so feared these ghosts as much as they did the drivers. They were normally the screamers, those who went pretty quickly. There were three types of people in the pits. The screamers, the fighters and the silent. Ryo had been one of the silent ones briefly before escaping. As the days went by he could feel more and more of his mind and self-awareness slipping away. The fighters were always the first to be taken. They where the trouble makers and, in Hult's eyes, the sooner they where eradicated the better. The screamers where taken or killed afterwards, probably so the drivers didn't have to keep listening to them. Bethany had been a fighter, but the good kind. At 19, she was older than the most of the slaves in Ryo's pit. She'd hurl abuse at the orcs and drivers, but always made sure to take the full responsibility and not let anyone else suffer for what she did. Ryo admired that, but what he admired more was how she used to tell the smaller children stories to let with sleep, even just a little more peacefully. If she couldn't remember a story, she made one up. She could let them escape, but, of course, that came with a cost. When the debt was called in, the orcs took her and the miniscule hope Ryo had retained died.

The stories of ghosts, ghouls, spirits and wandering souls in the pits where what scared him most Ryo could survive almost anything the orcs could deal out without a flinch or gasp, but the stories frightened him before Hult had made him numb. It wasn't due to any pain or injury the beings could do to him but rather the thought that Hult could keep him there forever. The concept that not even Death could provide the sweet release and freedom he and the other slaves wanted so much terrified him. Even Hell itself was better than Hult. At least hell was warm.

But travelling with these people was completely different. Within the first minute of meeting them, they'd shown him more kindness than he'd seen in all his years in Hult put together with the exception of Bethany. He wondered where they found the time to be so kind. Sympathy took time and effort, mercy required emotion and in war, no-one could afford that kind of drain.

Ryo couldn't remember the most of his life before Hult. The rocks themselves could draw the humanity out of you, so memory loss came as no surprise to him. Only small things remained in his life's playback; A book, a flower, a few children's stories Bethany had told, his favourite spot in the forest, a voice, a few faces. Nothing useful or major. However, with some difficulty, he could remember his father voice saying something. It was worn, but warm and comforting.

"One of the things I've learned along that path is that mercy can only be expected of the strong. Remember that. Cruelty is only ever a sign of weakness."

Did they know this too? Was that why they could be so confident and self assured despite knowing of the horrors Hult had behind its outer walls? Was it even possible that they could be that strong? There wasn't even an iota of a chance. They'd be crushed long before they reached the Black Moon Citadel, so what could possibly keep them going. They didn't seem suicidal or deluded. Insanity was still a possibility. They didn't seem mad, but then, you heard about those quiet insane people. The ones that kept it hidden brilliantly...

It must be that unidentifiable part in their eyes, the glint and spark Ryo couldn't name. What could possible make the, moving forwards towards what would most definitely prove to be their deaths? It wasn't foolhardiness nor naivety as the holy man wouldn't have anything to do with those traits. It couldn't be stupidity or ignorance as the scholar wouldn't display them. It wasn't cruelty either as the fay simply couldn't be cruel.

Two answers presented themselves. They rose slowly in his mind as everything else was slowly ruled out.

Either they were all insane, himself included, or they showed one of those words Bethany was so fond of. They appeared in quite a few of her stories. According to her, it was one of the key identifying traits of a hero... They really didn't seem insane, but again, you never know.

That glint, that trait they all had except him. Finally he could place a name to it, whichever it was.

The second wasn't as high or lofty as Beth's stories had led him to believe, but then, these people and the villagers where the only non-Hultans he'd seen. You had to wonder if these people been picked for this job? Were there gods up there in the heavens watching every step they made? He supposed sometimes they needed the entertainment. However, there was a small hope in the back of his mind.

Was it contagious? He knew that around these people he definitely felt more confident than he had in ages. They all had their reasons for staying with the group, the shifter had her promises, the fay her prophecy, the scholar was looking for more information while the knight had his own advantages to gain here. They all had the Farseer's own prophecy, binding them together. Now he had his own reason. Ryo didn't want to die, but he did what to learn how to have that spark himself. He wanted to know what it was that set these people apart from everyone else.

It would take him a few weeks to realise that the group weren't mad. He watched them make sacrifices, big and small, personal and collective without stopping. They made almost every decision every sane person would. Instead, Ryo accepted they had something he wanted. Something he would be willing to learn from them.

That glint, that trait they all had except him. Finally he could place a name to it.

It was courage. Pure and unadorned.


	4. D is for Deipotent

**(Hey folks. It's been a while, hasn't it?**

**I'm well aware that this RP has died a long and arduous death, but if no-one really minds, I'll continue to keep writing these one-shots. I'm still finding a lot of enjoyment in writing around the canon. If anything, the RP dying has opened up the canon somewhat.**

**Anyways, if anyone is still reading this series, there's Deipotent, a word meaning to have the power of a god. Enjoy!)**

Gods were fantastical. They had lived in the fantasies of a hundred different poets and bards, inspiring stories and allowing imaginations to run rampant. They gave humans the greatest thing which made them human. They gave mankind stories and beliefs. Occasionally, gods even gave people something to live for.

Gods were awesome. They evoked awe. People looked to the Gods with equal amounts of fear and wonder. They marvelled at the supposed power of their deities and feared that their inexplicable might could turn towards them at any given moment.

Gods were marvellous. They caused marvels which more often than nought exceeded both expectation and imagination. They could single-handedly cause events greater than could be achieved by an entire nation of men.

Gods were glamorous. They surrounded themselves in glamour, an iridescent cloak which hid their less admirable acts. Diversion and distraction where two of the key skills one needed to become a god. Any mortal could reach god-like status so long as he mastered those two pivotal arts.

Gods were terrific. They induced terror. There is nothing in the land more heart-stopping or bone chilling than the idea that a god has forsaken you, or, even worse, has turned against you.

In the entirety of Asyre, there was a single man who perfectly embodied these qualities more than any other. Currently he sat at the window of his study in the Tower of Howling, the control centre of the fortress he had single-handedly caused to be raised from the ground. Without speaking a word of a lie, Arcell could claim that all he could survey from that window was of his dominion. The metal, stone and wood metropolis had been created for his cause. The mass destruction beyond the perimeter of Hult's spiked walls was of his doing as well. A single tree could not be within a two mile radius around the Fortress. Those trees which did not fall under the forests own protection had been felled without exception. Everything that could be burned had been to power the machinery. Where life in it's vast and glorious array had once blossomed there was now nothing. The life of the land had been drained to feed the great monstrosity which rested upon it. Arcell did not think of it in this way. He saw inferior life-forms being sacrificed to support something much greater. The flawless war machine of his creation had challenged the land and it had won. Now, it was reaping its rightful rewards.

Everything he could see would be his someday in the not so distant future, if Arcell had his way. That was his will and his will was absolute. It wouldn't be the first time he'd done something which, at first glance, seemed to be impossible. He had single-handedly brought together one of the greatest armies ever amassed. He had caused the orcs and goblins to unite under him. He had gathered together the Ravagers, which could easily be Asyre's most gifted and fearsome collection of fighters. He had brought Mura, Omin, Daniella, Fable Aurora, Zarya and Achille into the darkness with him. Despite seeking solitude, Arcell would not go this journey alone. If he triumphed, so would they, but should he begin to fall...

They were expendable. The Ravagers could be replaced. It would be difficult, but certainly not impossible.

What this single individual had achieved up to this point could be regarded as miraculous. Against impossible odds and frightening challenges he had risen, fed on the tales of old and the pride of his kind, Arcell had grown, developed, adapted and triumphed. Hult was a testimony to his might. His words had swept aside age old rivalries, bringing his soldiers from their caves and tunnels into the Light. His actions had won their favour and their loyalty and now, his dreams and cunning would lead these people, his chosen ones, into a shining future.

Or, at least, that's what they thought.

You see, there's one thing people tend to frequently forget to mention about gods. They get so caught up in their glamour and legacy that they overlook a small and simple fact about them.

No-one ever said that a god had to be nice or benevolent. No-one stated they had to care about those who surrounded or supported them. No-one uttered that the gods had to stay true to mere mortals.

But perhaps, most importantly was this fact...

No-one had said how they could be stopped.

**(As always, questions, queries, comments and complaints are welcome ^^**

**Butterfly)**


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